Back to Platform Nine and Three Quarters
by IckleMollykins
Summary: Draco sends his son to Hogwarts for the first time. Compliant with DH Epilogue.


Draco bitterly walked toward platform nine and three quarters with his wife and son. All the changes that had occurred over the last nineteen years seemed reflected in the autumn season. The chilly air was warmer than it had ever been before, making him regret his decision to wear such a heavy cloak; the leaves were brighter and colorful, mocking his decision of sending his son away. As if his wife sensed this, she sent him a reassuring smile before giving the trolley to her son. Casually, the small family leaned into the barrier where they were engulfed with steam on the other side. With a quick sweep of his hand, Draco motioned for his wife and son to follow him.

"Now I want you to write home as soon as the week's over. Tell us what House you've made and how all your lessons went." Astoria ran her hand through her son's smooth blond hair. "Oh, I can't believe this day has come!"

"Mother," said Scorpius darkly, looking around to see if anyone saw. He caught sight of a small family, all with red hair, except for the mother, whose thick hair was colored brown. There was a pretty girl with bushy red hair already in her Hogwarts robes. He smirked in her direction. From what his father had recounted from his time at Hogwarts he had a pretty good idea who she was.

Draco watched in bemusement as his wife began to once again check her son's trolley, assuring herself that nothing was forgotten. The eagle owl hooted indignantly at her as she lifted its cage for the third time.

"Well, I do believe that's everything. Scorpius, why don't you help your father load this on the train."

At the sound of the word 'father' Draco started. If he was honest with himself it was still odd to be referred to as a father—even after eleven years of having the label. He caught his son's eye, startled by how similar in appearance they were before nodding and making his way toward one end of his son's trunk.

"Got it, son?" he asked, and when Scorpius nodded, he proceeded. "On the count of three, then."

Being a Malfoy Draco and Astoria had given his son much more than was actually needed for a year at Hogwarts. He had more than enough robes, his father's old Nimbus 2001 (just in case), one of many more packages of sweets from his mother to come, and nearly everything else his son wanted, Draco made sure he had it. As the heaviness of his son's trunk hit him, Draco suddenly felt hesitant. He was struck with the odd desire to leave only what his son truly needed for the year and then taking the rest out. He didn't want to turn into his father, after all. If there was anything that remained primarily constant even after the war, it was Draco's sense of competition, and he felt a strong yearning of being _better _than Lucius, at least as how far fathers go. As a child, Draco had always held his father in high regard, so much that sometimes he even _feared_ him more than he loved him. But now, as a father himself, Draco only wanted his son's love and wanted none of his fear.

"Father?" Scorpius' strained voice brought Draco out of his reverie. He took one look at his son's lightly colored pale face and realized that they were still holding the trunk.

He cleared his throat.

"Right," he said, before dispensing it on the train. "That should do it."

Turning around, the smoke from the train had just begun to clear and he caught sight of the Potter and Weasley gang. He had seen them around in the nineteen years since the war, but never in such proximity as during this moment. His stony eyes traveled from each one until they rested on Potter's. He only nodded briefly, his neck muscles clenched so tightly that it almost hurt to do so.

"Is that them, Father?" asked Scorpius softly as Draco faced his son once more.

"Yes," he said, his attempt to hide his malice futile. "They saved my life more than I'd like to admit, but I don't want that stopping you from trying to beat that Weasley girl at Potions. I know you can do it." He winked at his son, but his smirk faltered. "You probably won't like that boy with the untidy black hair very much. However, I expect you to keep civil with all your classmates. So don't get caught after hours, no dueling until you've learned properly how—and even then I'm not sure I'll allow it, you got that?"

"Yes, Father," said Scorpius, his smirk only becoming more prominent.

"And Scorpius?" His son's gray stare lifted to meet his own once again, and Draco had to suck in a breath as his beautiful son inched slowly toward him. "Have a good year." He enveloped him into a hug, the heat of his son's body much too warm for him with such a heavy cloak on, but somehow not uncomfortably so. He wondered if Scorpius felt the same way.

"Don't forget to write," warned Astoria, as she too clung to her son and ran a hand through his smooth hair again. She kissed the top of his head, and Draco noticed how his son looked around to see if anyone noticed.

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express sounded. Everyone was saying their last goodbyes and reminders to each other. Draco gave his wife a fleeting glance and she seemed to give him the courage he needed for his last words to his son with a simple nod of encouragement.

"I love you, son." The words, so heavy in meaning, rolled off his tongue so lightly and effortlessly, like they did all the other times he voiced them to Scorpius. But he wanted—needed—his son to know that he truly meant them, much more than he ever did before, for now he would only be able to write them to him for three whole months.

The smirk on Scorpius' face blossomed into a smile, as he paused with one hand on the door of the train. Gone was all embarrassment he had felt earlier at the simple touches of him parents before.

"I love you too, Father."


End file.
